Memories
by White-Lily-Blossom
Summary: Just what the title says- Memories remembered on a cold night, when sleep refuses to come. HD, HG, angst.


Desclaimer: Never mine, though oh, how I wish it could be.

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The man opens his eyes and sits up in his bed. Thoughts and memories blur together in his mind, cutting sharp edges and forming corners and long, painful shadows. He sighs, then gently removes the blankets from his legs, shivering at the coldness of the room, which bites at his legs through his flannel pajamas. The bed creaks when he stands up, and he darts a quick look to the other side of the bed. He smiles softly when he sees his bed partner still deep in slumber.

"_Can't sleep, Potter? Is Dumbledore's golden boy having nightmares?"_

He walks to the large window, the glass like ice against his fingers, wishing he could sleep as well. "Not nightmares, no," he says quietly "just memories". His breath fogs on the window, obscuring the outside. It doesn't matter, though. It's too dark to see anything anyway.

"_You look tired, Harry," a voice says fondly, and a graceful hand comes to rest on his cheek, brushing away his hair. Harry laughs, catches the hand with his own and brings it to his mouth, kissing the palm._

"_If I'm tired," he answers, moving to the fingers, which are long and pale, a handsome contrast to his own brown ones "it's only your fault, isn't it?"_

_Draco Malfoy laughs, a bright, happy sound, and leans in to replace his fingers with his lips. "You know," he tells Harry in a sly voice, his gray eyes twinkling "on second thought, you seem quite refreshed". Harry pulls him closer, shaking his head, and then neither one of them says anything, for a long time._

Harry moves his fingers on the glass, distractedly. His fingertips feel rough, a result of the years he spent clutching broomsticks in Quidditch, the skin callused and dry.

"_I'm going to wipe the field with you, Potter" Draco _(still Malfoy now)_, spits, his face contorted in a hateful sneer, the rage in his eyes making them look flat, like stone. They are both high in the air, facing each other determinedly, the wind tousling their hair and rendering their noses and ears numb. Draco is all Slytherin, dressed in green, his hair looking silver in the pale winter light. Harry can see the tightness in which he clutches his broomstick, his knuckles white, the hesitation behind the confidence._

_He smirks back at him "you'd wish," he says. "You don't stand a chance, Malfoy, why not give up? You'll just humiliate yourself again. You always do". Draco's eyes narrow, furious, and he hisses "I'll make you swallow your words, Potter, you just wait…"_

_Later, when Harry plucks the snitch from under his nose, a moment before Draco closes his fingers on it, he raises his eyebrows at him, grinning cheekily, and says "what was that, Malfoy? It seems you are the one eating your words". As he lands, brandishing the snitch like the holy grail itself, he looks over his shoulder; Draco is still hovering in the air, glaring at him, his mouth a tight line, and when Harry gives him a lazy salute and winks at him, the hate in his eyes burns him to his bones, and warms him through and through._

Harry smiles softly, chuckling under his breath. They were so foolish, so young. It took them time, to realize what they felt, and even longer to acknowledge it. His face stares back at him from the window glass, almost as if he were looking at a mirror, and he frowns. He remembers a time it looked different, without the lines the years and his life has etched onto it.

_Harry stands before the mirror, scowling at it, yanking at his ever-disobedient hair. The mirror 'tusk's at him, saying kindly "it's a lost fight, dear", and Harry's scowl deepens. Draco appears behind him then, slim and elegant, his light hair perfectly in place. "Oh, leave it" he says, his arms snaking around Harry's waist "I like it like that". Harry leans into him, feeling- and seeing, in the mirror- Draco placing a kiss on his ear._

"_Oh, you do, do you?" he mutters, then without warning, spins around and ruffles Draco's hair. Draco yelps, tries to grab his wrists, the indignant expression on his face canceled by the smile in his voice "Harry, stop! I mean it, cut it out!"_

"_You two look so lovely together," the mirror says warmly, and they both start, having completely forgotten about it. They straighten, then grin at each other. Two eighteen-year-old boys look at them back from the wooden frame, their hair sticking out in every direction, their lips stretched wide. Harry closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to Draco's. _

"_We do, don't we?" he says, and feels Draco's hum of agreement, rather than hears it._

Another memory rushes forwards now, maybe the most painful of them all. Of spring, red-eyed people wearing black, and a dark, simple casket, being lowered into the ground. A sob escapes his lips. With a jolt, he feels a warm wetness trickling down his cheeks, and realizes he's crying.

"Harry?" a soft, sleepy voice calls to him from the bed, and he hears the mattress protest at the movements. He takes a deep breath. "It's alright, Gin," he answers, his voice only shaking a little, "go back to sleep. It's nothing". She mutters an "okay" and a minute later, the even sounds of her breathing fills the room.

"Just saying goodbye to old ghosts," he continues, quietly, to himself. He presses his fingers to his lips, then touches the window one last time, before turning his back on it and getting back into the bed.

Behind him, the words traced onto the fogged glass are already starting to fade; by morning, no sign of them would be left, but for now, they read, in a narrow, jagged scrawl "Happy Birthday, Draco".

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A/N: This all started from this sentence I remembered reading once; something about old ghosts that waited to long to come back, or something else to that effect. In my head, it became "just saying goodbye to old ghosts", and the whole story just unfolded from there. I wanted to put the memories of both their years spent hating each other, and their years spent loving one another. I hoped I succeeded in that.

My friend told me, after reading this story (after saying "finaly, a H/G!") that it makes one wonder whether he really loves Ginny, or if she's just a rebound after Draco's death. I guess that in some way, we never forget our first real love. So Harry does miss Draco and ache for him, because he loved him- real, all-consuming love- first. But whether Ginny's a rebound or a true love as well- that's for you to decide. I see Harry and Draco as the perfect couple, **because** they are so different- they complete each other like no one else really can, they challenge one another all the time. In my opinion, Ginny- or anyone else for that matter- can't give that to Harry, not like Draco could. But that's the reason I support H/D, not H/G- someone else might see it differently, so it's really your call.


End file.
